


Dressed In Black

by ScarletteStar1



Series: I WILL FIND YOU- AU and Canon Divergent Stories about OTPs Reaching Across Time and Space To Be Where They Belong [7]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, F/M, Love, Older man, Smutty stuff, Song fic, erotic angst, haunting stuff, malnessa, modern day retelling, weird visions of things from the past, younger woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: Dr. Malcolm Murray does not understand what is happening to him when a mysterious woman approaches him on his lecture circuit. . . they spend a night together as never he's experienced before, or has he?





	Dressed In Black

He’d given the lecture so many times, he could have done it upside down, drunk, drugged, locked and shackled in a cage and in the dark. He knew all the spots where his voice was supposed to rise and fall, accelerate, get louder to accentuate a point, and dip down into a lower tone to make something seem all the more mysterious.

It wasn’t that it was boring for him. Far from it.

 _Progressive Egyptian Attitudes Toward Religion in Hieroglyphics_ was one of his favorite topics. He’d basically discovered the theory and written the book on the subject, which had become even more relevant in this age of fervent religious conflict. It was a theme on which he felt both pride and passion. Over the past year, he’d spoken to packed halls in universities around the globe, including Egypt. He’d barely touched down in his own country house in England for more than a night or two, which was fine with him. The place was filled with ghosts.

When he gave this particular lecture, he felt much like an actor, assuming his most beloved and well-worn character. He almost pictured himself going into a dressing room back stage, and adorning himself, piece by piece, in the garb of a Shakespearean prince. He wasn’t certain why that was the image that came to him; perhaps it had to do with his particular fondness for Shakespeare and classical British theater.

Of course, with his gray-streaked beard, and the deep lines around his eyes when he smiled now, he was much less the age of a prince and much more so an aging king. He did not think himself such to stroke his own ego. Robed in his character, he could stroke his beard and fully appreciate his tragic nature.

In addition to familiarity with his subject, and how to handle it, Dr. Malcolm Murray was well aware of the gaggles of students who flocked to his lectures merely to catch a glimpse of him, and less to listen to his knowledge. He’d been pursued by both male and female students. They stalked him backstage, and at times figured out which hotels he stayed in and waited for him there. One time, a particularly assertive woman young enough to be his granddaughter, discerned his actual hotel room and managed to get into it. He found her lying in wait for him, naked in his bed. Security was promptly called, and since then, security had been increased on these lecture circuits. In general, he learned to ignore the more lascivious attentions of fans, although he was always happy to sign his book and shake hands with the devoted scholars out there.

He was nearly through the first part of the talk, when he felt his throat start to close up. He paused and turned to pour some water from the nearby carafe. When he looked back up and out into the audience (a robustly full house no less) his attention was drawn directly toward the back. A raven haired woman stood on her own, dressed in a short, form fitting black dress. While it was difficult to make out details with all the lights and distance between them, something about her not only distracted, but captivated him. She was slender and slight, but commanded his gaze. A pale hand caressed the ivory column of her neck and she did not break eye contact with him.

Malcolm coughed and cleared his throat repeatedly. The water he sipped at did not seem to help much at all. Through sheer force of will, he managed to complete the first segment of his lecture and get himself to the little chamber backstage for intermission. He hastily consumed some tea and honey to calm the spasms in his throat, and he chatted with the flamboyant department head who’d arranged to have him come to the college for this presentation.

“Darling,” Ferdinand Lyle said as he minced toward Malcolm. “You must must must come out with Victor and me after your little show here. This adorable tapas bar opened up downtown and it has given our lives new meaning, has it not, Vicky?” Lyle linked arms with the lanky man who did not seem to appreciate the nickname with which his significantly older lover had christened him. ‘Vicky’s’ scowl did not deter Lyle in the least from snuggling into his side and putting a hand, heavily jeweled with gaudy rings, onto the young man’s chest. One might not guess that the diminutive man, ensconced in crimson velvet, possessed one of the most brilliant minds on Egyptology beneath his flowing platinum locks of hair.

“Yes, that sounds lovely,” Malcolm mumbled, but he was distracted. His eyes darted around the space, and he seemed almost anxiously eager for the lights to flicker and summon the audience back to their seats so he could resume his place on the stage and continue his talk. He was keen to catch another glimpse of that girl in black.

When he took the stage, however, he searched the sea of faces in vain. She was not there.

He found himself bumbling through the second part of his presentation while simultaneously trying to figure out how he would avoid tapas with Ferdinand and his boy toy. The tickle in his throat was relentless, but seemed like it would be the perfect excuse for his hasty retreat back to his hotel after the meet and greet and book signings for those who had purchased the special passes. After apologetically coughing his way through the signing, he pled his case to Ferdinand.

“Oh, but Malcolm,” Lyle whined. Malcolm caught Victor roll his eyes. He had to wonder what the handsome, yet stern man was doing with his flaxen haired counterpart, but he did not waste long on his pondering. “Then brunch in the morning? Brunch and munch, munch and brunch?” Lyle sang. He leaned into Malcolm and said in a loud whisper, with a sideways glance at Victor, “This one always has me up bright and early, if you know what I mean, so we will be ready to roll whenever you like, my darling man.”

“Thank you Ferdinand,” Malcolm said with a sideways smile. He collected his overcoat and brief case. His tour manager would pack away the rest of his materials. The New England autumn night was warm enough that he did not have to put on his coat, so he threw it over his arm, and he said the rest of his goodbyes. He was led to his car and driven back to his hotel. He felt a strange weight sink within him, and as it did, it filled him with disappointment akin almost to grief. Perhaps he should have gone out with Ferdinand and that petulant man candy of his after all; dinner alone in his hotel room did not seem like such a great idea now that he was toe to toe with it.

He decided he would eat something in the restaurant. It was a lavish place with a menu that had been written up in several of the local magazines. He left his coat and case with the front desk and passed through the bar on his way to see if he could still get a table at this late hour. Suddenly, he noticed he was no longer pinched in his throat or seized in fits of coughing as he had been for the past few hours. He was able to inhale with ease, but another strange sensation struck him. It was as though he were underwater and bumping up against some sort of wall through which he could not penetrate. He opened his eyes, and in the next moment was shocked to find they had been closed. He took another step and as he did so, he turned his head to the left.

“You were at my lecture,” he said. The woman dressed in black sat at the bar. Up close, she was even more elegant. Vibrant as morning glories, her eyes met his. She smiled.

“Have you heard the one about two Brits who met up in New England?” She said and he was taken by her refined, English accent.

“I must admit, I’ve not heard that one,” he began and stepped in closer to the bar. “But I’m all ears, if you’d like to tell me.” He was drawn to her hands which moved over each other in a supple motion which he came to see was the shuffling of a glossy deck of mulberry colored cards. On the bar in front of her was a glass of something, mostly consumed. “What are you drinking?”

“B and B,” she answered. Her voice was nearly as enchanting as her eyes.

“Mmmmh, my favorite. Bartender? I’ll do one of these, and another one for uh-“

“Vanessa Ives.”

“For Miss Vanessa Ives,” he said, delighting in the syllables of her name as his tongue wrapped around them. He extended his hand. “Malcolm Murray,” he said. She set her cards down and took his hand in hers.

“Yes. I’m quite aware of who you are Dr. Murray.” She dipped her head so she had to peek up at him from under her lashes, smiling all the while. He had a violent urge to bite the rosy, little pouch of cheek above her dimple, and then he felt himself blush. As he regained his hand, he used it to loosen his tie a bit.

“Ah. Of course. Well, please, do call me Malcolm then. But you didn’t stay for the entire program.”

“No. I didn’t,” she said, but offered no further explanation for why she had left. She did however gesture to the seat next to her at the bar and ask, “Would you care to join me?”

Later, when he looked back on that night, on that moment, he knew it had never crossed his mind, not even for a moment to say no to her. He slid into the seat and nodded at the cards. “What are you playing?” He asked.

“Nothing. I don’t play. These are tarot cards. I read.”

“So will you tell me my fortune then?” The bartender set their drinks before them.

“You jest, Malcolm Murray. I do not tell fortunes. That is not what tarot is about. And besides, anyone can tell you you have done quite well where your fortune is concerned. You do not need a psychic to tell you that.”

“Perhaps in some ways. In other ways not so very fortunate, I’m afraid. Anyway, I apologize if I seemed insincere about your talent,” he said.

“Apology accepted,” she answered. “And you must accept my apologies as well. I read of your misfortunes last year. I am so sorry for your losses.”

“Yes, well,” he began and then could not figure how to finish.

“I’m certain you do not want to speak of such things with a complete stranger, of course.”

“How gracious of you,” he choked. He raised his glass and she did the same. “Shall we toast then to benevolent strangers and brighter futures?”

“That’s lovely,” she said and touched her glass to his. They each took a sip of their cocktail.

“How did you find me here anyway, Miss Ives?”

“I’m staying here as well, Dr. Murray,” she said. She raised her drink again to her lips and he watched them adorn the rim with a kiss of lipstick in a shade reminiscent of ripe raspberries. “Perhaps it was you who found me.”

“A fair point,” he chuckled. He raised his glass and sipped as well. The brandy was strong, but smooth and well complimented by the herbal cordial. He’d not eaten in many hours. It would go straight to his head if he didn’t eat soon. “I was going to get some supper,” he said. “Have you eaten yet, Vanessa?”

“I’ve not,” she said. He contemplated how her legs were crossed. They seemed to braid themselves into his unconscious and he longed to touch them, to touch her. Perhaps it was the spirits, but he found there was something familiar and foreign about her all at once that made him almost dizzy. He was gripped with an urge to spread her lace-clad knees wide open, kneel before her, shove up her tiny little dress, and force his face into her crotch. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to hear her clean, clear English accent say things like my apologies and I’m quite aware as he drilled his tongue into her delicious cunt. He’d make a five course meal of her. He’d come hard and fast in his own hand as he drew figure eights around her clit with his tongue and made her cry out for him.

He had to shake his head to rid himself of this coarse image, and he realized his cock was stiff in his trousers as he asked her to join him for a bite. “Shall we get a table then,” he asked. She nodded her acquiescence. He requested the staff find them a table. A nice one.

“Before we go to our supper, Malcolm, will you humor me in something?” Vanessa asked with that coy little smile.

“Of course,” he said. He’d already established that he’d never say no to her, although he’d not completely realized it yet.

She put her hand over the deck of cards on the bar and spread it out in a wide arc, in a single motion as graceful as dance. “Pick a card,” she said. He reached out to snatch a card. “No,” she breathed. “Feel the energy of the cards. Let them work on you. Take your time. Close your eyes. And then, only then, pick.”

Malcolm’s eyebrows twitched at her, but he obliged. He closed his eyes. He tried to tell himself it was all a game. This was a woman who wanted to get him into bed, and she was fucking hot so why not play along with her? He let his hand hover over the cards and as he did, he heard a whisper from decades past. _Father,_ it said. _Father, please!_

His eyes snapped open and he slapped his hand down on the bar. He grabbed at the first card he touched and pulled it out of the perfect arch. He didn’t bother to look at it, but he looked at Vanessa who was looking directly at him with those violet, inquisitive eyes. “What is this?” He asked.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me either, Malcolm,” she said softly as she took the card from his hand. “But I beg you to. We have answers for one another.” She swept up the rest of her cards in a graceful motion, and then turned his card over on top of the neatly assembled deck. He stared down at it, mouth open as though he were about to say something, but unable to make words come out. “Ahhh. The Lovers. Well then. What do you think of that?”

“What do you think I should think of it?” He asked in a tone that bordered on annoyed.

“I think we should have supper and then find out,” she said. He tried to match her self assured smile, but he found himself frowning. Regardless, as they followed the waiter to their candle lit table in the corner, his cock had barely withered in his pants, and furthermore it wept at the sight of her lovely ass walking in front of him.

She ordered the Cornish game hen, and ate it delicately. He had the prime rib, like a proper man, and devoured every bite. They consumed a bottle of Pinot Noir and skipped dessert in favor of hazelnut cordials. Conversation did not falter for a moment. They compared the places they both knew and loved in England, as well as the places they eschewed abroad. After finishing a second post dinner drink, Malcolm was pretending his head was not swimming, while marveling at the fact Vanessa seemed completely unaffected by the spirits.

“These answers we have for each other,” he began as the last of their plates were cleared away. “What are they? Or better yet, perhaps you should start by telling me what the questions are.”

“All in time,” she answered. He pushed back in his chair, leaned back and looked at her with a lazy smile.

“You’ve not mentioned Egypt,” he said.

“Should I have?” She asked.

“Well, not necessarily, no. But it is rather unusual that you haven’t.” He leaned back into her and put his hand on hers. “It’s generally what people want to speak to me about. Or at least they pretend they want to speak to me about Egypt.”

“Ah, yes. Well I already established that I do not play.” She winked and this made him laugh out loud.

“Indeed you did, my dear! Indeed you did,” he beamed at her.

“If you wish to tell me your story of discovering the lost scrolls of Amun Ra in the pyramid, I will humor you by listening, but to be perfectly honest with you, that is not my interest here.”

“You are gorgeous,” he blurted. He felt as though he’d come up from the deep and was suddenly gulping huge breaths of sweet, pure air.

“And you’re as charming as they make you sound on your book jacket,” she said. She slipped her hand out from underneath his and placed it on top of his. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and stroked the inside of his arm where his flesh was most delicate and sensitive.

“You have seen my book, then?” He said, trying to focus, but rolling his eyes back in pleasure at the touch of her fingers on his wrist.

“Seen it? I own my own autographed copy which I have read cover to cover. Yes.”

“So, why all the pretense? If you’re curious about the book or my studies out with it.”

“I’m not curious,” she said. She leaned forward and he could see the milky cleft of her cleavage gleam in the candlelight. She touched his face in a gesture that was as bold as it was tender. “It is late, however, and I believe I shall retire. Thank you, Malcolm, for a lovely supper.”

“Vanessa,” he sighed her name, suddenly desperate she not disappear again. “May I walk you to your room?” She gasped and he realized he’d put his hand on her thigh and had moved it up under her skirt, without even realizing it. They locked eyes. His thumb sought the tips of her stockings and found the lavish cream of her flesh.

“Yes,” she hissed.

**< 3 <3 <3**

His mouth engulfed hers, or hers his. It was impossible to tell. It was light or it was dark. It was impossible to see. All he knew was her skin flowing beneath his hands, and her breath roaring in his ear, like the ocean back home.

Her dress was easy enough to remove, but there was another barrier around her he seemed to fight, even as he felt himself sink deep inside of her. “Let me in, let me in,” he begged in an almost incoherent gasp, as he pulled her leg up and rode her hard.

“You are in,” she groaned and bit his shoulder. He wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled so she arched her neck and looked at him. Their eyes shone in the dark like different bodies of water on different continents; his the gray green of someplace cool and misty, and hers the vibrant cerulean of someplace tropical and cloudless.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said, not certain exactly what he meant. A strange confusion gripped him. She wrapped her arms around his back and held him as he mangled her throat with kisses.

“Of course you have,” she growled. “You’ve done this many times.”

“I feel lost,” he murmured, but did not slow or temper his urgent and animalistic taking of her.

“You are not lost,” she whispered in his ear and then brought a hand to either side of his face. She held his face in her hands. “Open your eyes and look at me,” she commanded. He did as he was asked. “You are here. We are here.” At these words, he slowed the rhythm of his fucking. He found himself suspended in the warmth of her lagoon like eyes. Eyes still wide open, he pressed his forehead against hers. He licked her lips. He groped at her breast with his hand. It was so soft, he yearned to fill his mouth with it and he started to lower his face to take it between his lips, but she held his face fast. “No,” she whispered with a thrusting rotation of her hips. “Stay with me. Stay here.” For a moment, she looked as though she would cry. He stroked her cheek and kissed her repeatedly, but did not close his eyes.

When the visions started to come, they came fast and were relentless as an English rain pelting the roof of his country home.

A flash of lightening and his feet trampling a garden path. A woman’s hand stroking a hedge, stirring up an aroma of lilac like none he’d known since his childhood. His feet racing along a shore, following someone in a billowing gown. His voice calling out. A rifle. A lion snarling and then dropping dead in front of him. The sound of cheering and chanting and drums. A woman’s voice singing, high and clear, as birds flew over trees. Back to a garden. No, a maze. He was in a maze. His feet were walking slowly. There was no urgency. It was languid. Clouds gathered in the middle of a day. Guns fired. Animals screeched. He smelled flowers. Roses. Peonies. Lilac. He looked into eyes black and slick as obsidian. The wind blew and sand stung his face. He heard his voice, _I love you, I love you, I need you, Come back! Don’t leave me here!_ His feet were running, racing along a shore, following a woman in a black dress blowing out behind her.

“I’m here,” Vanessa moaned and she felt her inner walls spasm around his cock as she came.

“Please don’t go again!” He sobbed into her mouth as he let go and released in a steaming jet inside of her. He continued to pound into her until he was soft and fell out.

**< 3 <3 <3**

When he woke, his head was on her chest. It was still dark. He could hear her heart beat.

She cradled his head in her arms and stroked his hair lightly.

“What just happened?” He asked, but he did not move away.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. She sniffled, and he could tell she’d been crying.

“I demand answers, Vanessa,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, but offered none.

**< 3 <3 <3**

The phone rang and woke him. He rolled over and picked it off the receiver.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!! Malcolm darling, it is almost noon, are you going to meet Vicky and me for brunch or are we going to have to suffer our frittatas without your delicious company?”

Malcolm sat up in bed and looked around the room. The shades were drawn, but even in the dim light, he could tell Vanessa had left. He cleared his throat. “Ferdinand, that cough has turned into something a bit deeper. I am afraid I will have to take a pass on brunch.”

“Oh, my dear! I am so dismayed to hear this! I will have my concierge bring you some of my special nectar. It’s a proprietary blend of this and that. Mainly honey and tumeric, but you’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Malcolm thanked him as he threw off the covers and rose from the bed. He hung up the phone and strode naked through the suite. She was not in the sitting room, or in the bath.

She was gone.

Gone.

He fell back into bed and let sleep take him before he could begin to weep.

**< 3 <3 <3**

When he woke the light had shifted in the sky. He had a sense it was late afternoon, perhaps even evening. He sat up in bed. His muscles were stiff. He felt the bruise on his shoulder glow with heat.

She stood by the window, looking out. She was naked, her long hair around her shoulders like a shawl. “You’re awake,” she said without looking. She was smiling out at the twilit cityscape.

He clutched the sheets in his fists. “I thought you’d gone,” he gasped.

She turned and graced him with the vision of her luminous, pale body. She walked toward the bed and sat down on the edge. “No. I’m here.”

“I don’t understand,” Malcolm whispered and his eyes searched hers for an answer.

“No. But you will,” she replied and bent down to kiss his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! As you know, this ship owns my entire soul and I write it with my whole being. Thank you for being here and for any comments you leave. . . I absolutely live to hear from you. xoxo.


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